


Sworn Sword

by mautadite



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Family Fluff, Gen, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-22 00:25:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mautadite/pseuds/mautadite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh, my fair knight…” His sister gathers his hands in her own, kneeling in the dirt. A few feet away, Arya crows her victory to the skies. Sansa cries very prettily, from what Robb can see through his half-lidded eyes. “The villain has slain you!”</p><p>Fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sworn Sword

**Author's Note:**

> Had this idea a while ago, and it also happily fits the kink meme prompt: 'big brother Robb looking out for his baby sister Sansa.'
> 
> Takes place about 4 or 5 years pre-canon.

Sansa is waiting for him outside of Maester Luwin’s chambers when he’s finished with his morning lessons. Robb closes the door behind him, thinking about how all those different house sigils and watchwords are going to leak out of his ears at the first chance they get, and when he turns, she’s there, painted stars stuck all over her old nightgown, a rusty tiara nestled in her hair, and an imploring look in her eyes. 

“You promised,” she reminds him, clasping her hands under her chin. She looks up at Robb with shining eyes and trembling lips. He places a hand on his hip, and her lower lips only juts out further.

“Aye, I did,” he agrees after a moment, and drops a hand into her hair. Sansa jumps up and down happily, and hugs him about the waist. His grin widens, and she grabs his hand and doesn’t let go as she hurries him down the stairs.

~~~

Fifteen minutes later, Mikken and Harwin are helping Robb stack up crates in the middle of the yard, to make Sansa’s tower. When she pronounces it high enough, and finds some extra stars to plaster to the wooden sides, Robb heads towards the armoury. He’s just in time to find Jon, hanging up his practice sword with the others.

“No, hold on,” he calls out from the door. Jon swivels, raising his brows. “I’m going to need your brotherly services. Throw me one?”

Jon chuckles, and complies, understanding right away.

“Is it my turn or yours?”

“Mine.” Robb catches the wooden sword, and gestures outside with it. “Be sure to make it good.”

They get back to the yard to find that someone has helped Sansa to the top of her little tower, and set up another little stack on the far side. Jeyne comes running out into the dust with a handful of white squares, saying that the princess needs more handkerchiefs, so Robb gives her a boost so that she can hand them off to Sansa. She blushes as she runs back to the burgeoning gaggle of servants’ children beneath the bridge, and Jon grins and elbows Robb in the side until he threatens to hit him over the head.

Sansa always likes there to be a bit of play-acting and drama, and sure enough, when Robb turns back to her, there are tears shining in the blue eyes so like his own. He hides his smile.

“Oh, fair knight, I knew you would come!”

“My fairest lady…” Sansa stops him to point discreetly at her tiara, and Robb clears his throat and begins again. “Oh, most beautiful of princesses… Even if Balerion the Black Dread had come back to life to create anew the Field of Fire, that would not have been enough to keep me away from your side. For I am your sworn sword, and wherever there is evil, I will be there to… erm, destroy evil. And rescue you, of course.”

He can see Jon snickering into his hand after he finishes, and treads lightly on his foot to make him scowl, and remind him that he is supposed to _be_ said evil force. Luckily, Sansa is occupied in her praise of his bravery, and does not reprimand them while they whisper. Then, Jon adopts a suitably menacing expression, and levels the wooden sword at his brother.

“You are sorely mistaken if you think that I will allow you to steal away my prize, knight! After I slay you, I shall make her my bride!”

They exchange a few cursory thrusts and slashes, and then Robb spins away with a flourish, back to Sansa on her tower. 

“She is no one’s prize, infidel! I shall make you rue the day you allowed your foul ambitions to cloud your mind.”

“See if you can. Hah!”

Neither of them is very good at gallant speeches or dark threats, but Sansa seems as pleased as ever, watching their faux-fight play out with wide, moist eyes. Wood clangs against wood in the dust-ridden air of the courtyard as Jon strikes high, and then low. Robb allows himself to be backed into a corner before he surprises his brother with an attack to his shins, and then presses his advantage. While they are evenly matched in skill, Jon is speedier where Robb is stronger, and even if they’re for Sansa’s benefit, these skirmishes are always interesting.

The little princess calls out praise and encouragement from her tower. Robb moves back to her side, and uses one of the white kerchiefs that she bestows upon him to mop at his brow. Across the yard, Jon makes vaguely menacing motions as he accepts a sip of water from Palla.

“Fair knight,” implores Sansa, bouncing charmingly on her heels, “let me tie my favour around your sword; it will give you strength to battle this cruel pretender.”

“My sweet princess, such a gift would honour me beyond belief.”

As he holds his sword up for Sansa to tie a silver-grey ribbon to the hilt, there is a short outburst of titters from the side lines. For a moment, everyone seems to be looking down at their feet, and then little Arya comes bursting through, skirts caked in mud and a small wooden sword held tight in her hand.

“I’m playing too, I’m playing too!” she cries, cheeks red from excitement. She comes to a dusty halt in front of Robb, and beams up at him.

Robb looks at Sansa in askance. This is unprecedented, and she does look a bit put off, but then she nods gamely. He swivels back towards his brother, and shrugs. Jon approaches, thinking quick on his feet.

“Ah, I see you have come to my aid… erm…” His face knots up in thought. “Scurrilous Squire! You have my thanks. Together, we shall be sure to defeat this do-gooder!”

“No, _I’m_ fighting,” Arya insists, and pushes against Jon’s knees when he tries to come closer. “Not you.”

“Ah… good, then, my worthy assistant. I entrust this battle to you.” He lifts his eyes to shrug at Robb and Sansa; Robb signals that it’s fine. Sansa is still pouting faintly, but Robb is quick to distract her. Once the game plays out as planned, she’s sure to be happy.

“Fear not, my dear princess. Though a new and much, much, _much_ more fearsome opponent has appeared—” Jon throws a twig at his head, and Arya looks so pleased she might burst. “—I shall not fail you!”

Sansa clasps her hands together, consternation forgotten. “Oh brave knight, your gallant pr—”

“I don’t want to talk, I want to fight!” Arya yells gleefully, and swoops in headfirst. Robb mouths a quick apology to Sansa before he turns to engage his littlest sister. He recognises the wooden sword that she wields; he and Jon and the other boys would use swords like those when they were younger, and just starting lessons with Ser Rodrik. It is small and light, but Arya holds it with both hands, swinging and charging about. He tries not to grin as he leaps aside, blocking her attacks with unnecessary flourishes, gently striking her sword with his own when given the opportunity.

“Yah!” she cries happily, poking at Robb’s legs. “Yield!”

“Never!”

Her legs are very little, but she seems to draw endless joy from chasing him about on them, laughing and cheering herself on. When she stampedes towards Sansa’s tower, hands held high, Robb runs out before her, lifts his sister down and clasps her by the hand, and leads Arya on a merry chase around the yard, turning around every down and again to cross swords with her. Even Sansa starts to giggle, princessly mien forgotten when Robb swings her up onto her other tower, drops a kiss on her hand and spins to begin the fight anew. 

“You will never have her, fiend!”

“Oh yes I will!”

Jon and Farlen call out friendly suggestions to the young villain; she ignores them all and runs in headfirst again, sweating and laughing. Arya is an energetic girl, a few months shy of five years, but not tireless. When Robb sees that her feet are dragging and her yells drop in volume, he knows that his time is drawing near.

“You should give up, Scurrilous Squire. You’ll never defeat me!”

“No! I don’t want to give up!” his nemesis cries stubbornly.

Robb draws closer, and raises his sword high over his head for a mild attack. It takes Arya a moment or two, but she sees that he has left himself utterly defenceless, and thrusts in delightedly for the kill, poking him in his leather clad stomach with all her might. All her might is honestly quite a lot of might, so the ‘oof’ that he gives as he clutches his abdomen and falls to the ground isn’t entirely fabricated. In the background, Sansa gives a cry of dismay.

This part is easiest; it’s just left to Robb to lie prone on the floor and wait for Sansa to scramble down and rush to his side. There are already tears glistening in the blue eyes that are twin to his own; Robb tries not to smile. Someone is dying, after all.

“Oh, my fair knight…” His sister gathers his hands in her own, kneeling in the dirt. A few feet away, Arya crows her victory to the skies while Jon walks up to congratulate her (and share in the glory, which Arya seems quite ready to deny him). Sansa cries very prettily, from what Robb can see through his half-lidded eyes. “The villain has slain you!”

“I am sorry, my princess,” Robb rasps. “I swore an oath to protect you, but… I have failed you.”

“No, never!” she exclaims. “You could have never failed me, not when you fought so bravely, and were always so kind and good. My memories of you shall shield me always.”

“Ah… I’m glad,” he wheezes. “At least… knowing that… I can… I can die… in… pea…”

He peters out dramatically, and closes his eyes with a last slump. Sansa presses a wet kiss to his nose before dissolving into tears, sobbing across his chest with abandon. She’s a bit heavy, but Robb knows better than to talk or even move when he’s supposed to be dead, especially in Sansa’s most important moment. Her tiara shifts, and she raises a hand to adjust it with expert ease as she wails. A hush falls across the courtyard, though Robb is sure he can hear amused and fond murmurs somewhere in the back.

Arya, however, seems ready to move along. Sansa is just rising to her feet, still sniffling morosely, when he hears Arya give another cry of ‘yah!’, and there’s the sound of wood on leather where she has presumably hit someone. 

“Hah! You’re dead too Jon!”

“Oh, no Arya.” Jon lets his villainous voice drop for a moment, so he can explain patiently. “This is the part where we become so moved by the princess’ tears that we repent for all our evil acts and vow to serve her faithfully forever, see? We’re good now, there’s no more killing.”

“I don’t care!” she yells with typical Arya-like obstinacy. “I’ve hit you, so you’ve got to be dead now. Go on!”

Robb peels an eyelid open in time to see Jon shrug helplessly at Sansa, and obligingly drop dead. He lands with a thump and a cloud of dust next to Robb. He tries to keep his amusement in check, but knows that he has failed when Jon elbows him in the side and whispers, “dead men don’t grin, Stark.”

In a moment, though, neither of them are laughing. Arya trots up to their bodies in a few quick steps, and Robb takes another peek in time to see what she’s up to. He has a scant second to tense up his stomach before his little sister is standing on it, one foot planted firmly below his ribs, the other squared on Jon’s midriff.

“I win!” Arya proclaims, for everyone to hear, brandishing a fist above her head. She jumps a little and Robb ‘oof’s again. “I’m the best!”

A smattering of applause breaks out from the onlookers, though Robb can hear what he is certain is Jeyne’s voice asking plaintively, “Can she do that? Can she really?” Arya doesn’t seem to hear; she is far too occupied waving her little sword about and soaking up the praise that wafts in at her from all sides.

Sansa, who must be enormously put out by now, still sounds like the epitome of poise and regal grace when she speaks.

“You stand undefeated among my champions and enemies alike, Scurrilous Squire. What shall you have of me?”

The victor turns on her heels, and Jon and Robb muffle their groans in unison.

“I don’t care! Do what you want! I’m a wolf!”

And Arya runs off growling into the crowd. Robb glances sideways just to be sure, and certain enough, his little sister is disappearing between the servants’ legs, howling at the top of her lungs.

Sansa sits cross-legged on the ground, looking both mystified and irritated.

“Well… what am I to do now?” she asks to the crowd in general. 

There’s a tumult of sound and confusion as everyone tries to gives different suggestions all at once, from Gage’s smallest daughter to Maester Luwin, passing by with a cage of ravens. Robb chuckles quietly. There is undoubtedly something of the princess in his sister, even sitting in the dirt with tangles in her hair. It is so very easy to love her. 

Ideas continue to ring out in the yard, and everyone quite forgets about Robb and Jon for a while.

~~~

Later, Sansa is waiting for them outside of the armoury, after their wooden swords have been put away, and they’re heading across the yard to meet Hullen at the stables. They recently gave up their trusty ponies to begin riding horses, and their lessons are twice as exciting now. Robb is preparing to jump onto Jon’s back in jest, but halts when he sees their little sister standing at the doors. She still wears her dusty, star-speckled nightgown, and a shy smile.

“I forgot to say,” she begins, looking up at them sweetly. “Thank you Jon, thank you Robb. You were both very gallant.”

Jon grins quietly, and inclines his head in a little bow.

“You’re most welcome, princess.”

Robb smiles when she turns her beam on him. He’d been vaguely worried that she would be upset that they hadn’t tried hard enough to oust Arya, but her good mood had returned when someone suggested that the princess hold a contest to see who could replace Robb as her sworn sword. Sansa was sure to whisper to him, though, that he shouldn’t feel too badly, because no one could really replace him.

“You’ll always be a knight to me.” 

Thinking about it makes his smile widen. He still has the ribbon that she tied about his sword; he uses it now to knot a clumsy bow around her wrist.

“Always, Sansa,” Robb says, and drops a hand into her red hair. “I did promise, after all.”

**Author's Note:**

> Also sort of inspired by this [soul-crushing fanart](http://starpatches.tumblr.com/post/51398633167) by starpatches.


End file.
